Evening The Odds
by HaveringFool
Summary: The reason is simple - the body is not that of any Doe.
1. Chapter 1

"I know you're there," she takes her goggles off, "Have you thought about it?"

"I've given some thought to it," the voice sends chills down her spine, cutis anserine or as it is more commonly known, goose bumps, form along her skin, but she's not afraid, "Enlighten me though, Doctor Isles, why are you willing to do this?"

She looks at the body on the autopsy table.

She had to keep the goggles on; she has to remember that she has evidence to preserve, an autopsy to carry out.

She looks at the body on the autopsy table.

The sheet still covered up to her chin.

She looks at the body on the autopsy table.

An hour had passed and still, no Y-incision had been done.

She looks at the body on the autopsy table.

The reason is simple - the body is not that of any Doe.

"She's been through so much," she looks at the body on the autopsy table, "She deserves better, she deserves more time, she deserves to be happy."

"And you don't?"

"A meaningful and purposeful life," she puts aside her goggles, "That's all I ever wanted to have. She gave me that already," she touches the body's cheek, "She gave me a best friend. She's my best friend."

"Are you hers?"

"I don't know," she touches the body's hand, "But it doesn't matter," she turns around to face the cloaked figure, "What matters is that she's there, lying on my autopsy table." She closes her eyes to steady her breathing, to hold back tears.

"Take my offer," she removes her gloves, "Take it, please."

"If I take it, there's no going back," the cloaked figure glides across the morgue towards her, "It will happen exactly as you've listed and," the hooded head turns to look at her, "There will be no retraction."

"I know what I'm doing," she takes a step closer to the cloaked figure, "I know what I'll lose," she takes in a deep long breath, "But I know what I'll gain."  
Her hand unconsciously reaches out for the body's.

"It's a big price Maura Isles."

She looks at the body on the autopsy table, at the body that isn't just any Jane Doe.  
She looks at the body on the autopsy table - her eyes closed, unmoving, and her smile, not forming.

She looks at Jane Rizzoli lying on the autopsy table, and she knows.

"Jane," she says as she holds onto the token she keeps constantly in her pocket, "Jane's worth it."

She shakes the skeletal hand of the cloaked figure.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi there, thank you, for the time~  
This story's a re-upload, with some minor style change. One day, more chapters will probably come to be. Apologies.  
Thank you, for the time=)


	2. Chapter 2

She flinches out of a reverie. One she didn't know that she had gotten lost in. One she didn't remember even being in.

"What?" She fought the urge to send along a crass remark.

"We were saying, just how-"

"I need some coffee," she leaves her seat before her partner Frost can do anything but leave his sentence hanging.

There is something that she seems to be lacking. Maybe it's caffeine. Maybe, no, it's probably just caffeine. She thinks.

She numbs that empty feeling in her with a long drink of coffee.

It's not working.

* * *

"Janie?"

She looks up from her desk.

"Cavanaugh says that you've been here since last night," ma sends a gentle smile, "Maybe it's time to go home?"

Home? She looks back to her desk. She's been trying to finish up a report since 2am last night. She couldn't get past the medical examiner's report. Something about it had seemed different. She looks to her mother.

"Sure ma, let's go," she takes her blazer from her chair and she starts to walk. She stops and waits for something.

A sound? A person? Something. She turns back around and reaches for her cup of coffee.

It's cold. It's never cold. Is it cold?

She looks back at her desk. It's 7am in the morning. She's never in so early.

"Let's go home ma, can you drive?" She asks and pretends to not catch how taken aback her mother is.

"Sure Janie, I'll drive."

She rides the elevator in silence. She doesn't drink the coffee. It's cold.

* * *

"Ma! You missed the turn!"

"What turn?"

"The turn to Beacon Hill! Come on ma!"

Her mother looks at her. She looks back at her mother.

"What?" She tries not to sound too angry.

"Why would we be heading to Beacon Hill? Are you alright Janie?" Her mother reaches to feel her forehead.

She shrinks back from the hand that's about to touch her. "I'm fine ma!" She yells but isn't so sure inside.

Beacon Hill. It's familiar, but not. Didn't she used to drive up there?

She looks out the window.

She never looks out the window. She's always looking at the passenger, not the window.

She shakes her head. She must be thinking of some vic's address instead.

* * *

"Do you want some breakfast Janie?"

"No ma, I'm fine. Go on home. I'm fine. I can make my own breakfast." She hurries her mother out her door and settles herself against the door.

Hands in her hair, eyes shut and fists tightly clenched, she tries for deep breaths, she counts to ten.

The last time she had felt like this – scared, confused, useless, angry, anxious; forgetting thoughts and remembering fragments - was when Hoyt had punctured her hands.

She takes in deep breaths and counts to ten.

Hoyt's been gone for, what? Three years? She focuses on the door behind her back.

She takes in deep breaths, and tries to understand why her fists are still tightly clenched.

She stands and heads to the fridge. She needs a beer. She needs to relax. She needs a beer.

A pack of chocolates falls onto the floor. Fudge clusters.

What?

She's losing her mind.

"I've never seen these chocolates in all my life," she hesitantly crams one into her mouth, "But I just know what they're called and how they'll taste like."

She slams her refrigerator shut.

"And there's no beer, there's only vegetables."

She falls to the floor and starts to cry.

She doesn't bother with deep breaths or counting to ten.

The empty feeling in her wins.

She's losing her mind.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi there, thank you, for the time~  
Hmm. An update. Two chapters.  
I'm hoping too, the intention of this chapter comes across respectfully, and, makes some sense at least.


	3. Chapter 3

"She's not herself. She's breaking apart. She's not herself."

"That's not my doing."

"You said - " she doesn't know what words to add.

"I said that I'll make it happen as you've listed," the cloaked figure almost snarls, "Never, not once, did I say that she would go back to who she used to be."

"She's supposed to be smiling, happy, joking around…"

"Maybe she's missing something Maura Isles," the cloaked figure gestures about the room, "Something right here in this room."

"You had conditions you offered," the hooded figure hands her a cloak, "Now prove it."

Speaker of the dead. Fetcher of the dead. Maura Dorothea Isles. Queen of the dead.

"It read, Jane Rizzoli will be happy again." She snagged the cloak as defiantly as she could muster, "Right there, at the top of the list."

"You're forgetting why she was happy in the first place." With that said, the cloaked figure vanishes and the morgue becomes empty and silent again.

She wonders if she's made, a mistake.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi there, thank you, for the time~  
I'll just have to say, the original plan's been tossed out the window, or more likely - I've forgotten what it is...Hmm. I hope that it's alright still.  
**Personal note:** Might you...also maybe, consider the message I had left on my profile? It touches on future fanfics - which might be of interest to you if you follow the other fanfics I have written.  
Thank you, for the time=)


	4. Chapter 4

The hooded figure appears right then again.

And behind the hooded figure trails a confused looking Jane.

She - Maura - sheds her own cloak, and dashes forward to hold onto Jane.

In a chilling voice, the hooded figure delivers the words so often spoken today.

The words are: Happy April Fools

And the skeletal hand casts towards them both, a handful of confetti or two.

* * *

**A/N:** I had to. Happy April Fools from HaveringFool!=)  
Do disregard this chapter in terms of the story progression.


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